


Warm Milk

by Aptemis



Series: Drabbles of Animal Nature [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Moriarty is a plucky feline, Otterlock, casefic, hedgehog!john - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2012-11-12
Packaged: 2017-11-18 12:47:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/561222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aptemis/pseuds/Aptemis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock, Lestrade and John face the infamous Moriarty--and discover his one weakness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warm Milk

**Author's Note:**

> Super super short I'm sorry. I'll update this later when I'm not bogged down by schoolwork and such.

“This way!” Lestrade called, his paws thumping against the earth as they sped through the underbrush. Sherlock followed, though with some difficulty. An otter’s feet simply weren’t meant for high speed chases through tangled shrubs and vines. John let out a squeak as Sherlock suddenly changed course, rocketing down a steep hill and into a grassy clearing.   
Lestrade sniffed the area’s perimeter as Sherlock gently placed John on the ground. 

 

“The hound was here—but his scent is muddled with another. If I’m not mistaken…it smells like…like…”   
“A cat, perhaps?” Moriarty strode out from behind a tree, his sleek black tail swishing back and forth. “You would be correct.”   
John’s spines rose threateningly, and Sherlock straightened into a standing position. A low growl escaped Lestrade’s jaws as he advanced towards the pompous-looking feline.   
“There’s no need to be cross with me, inspector.” Moriarty continued, casually using a paw to straighten the fur on the top of his head. “I didn’t kill anybody. At least, not yet.”   
Sherlock eyed the cat warily, mind whirring with hypothesis, conclusions, and wild guesses.   
“You’re Moriarty. I’ve heard of you. Well, I’ve heard your Master calling you for warm milk in the evenings.” Sherlock broke into a toothy grin as Moriarty bristled, looking furious. “I don’t know, however, why you’d be interested in having me dead.”   
“It’s all a game, my dear.” Moriarty padded around the three of them like a hawk circling its prey. “A game of smarts—and I suppose, of survival.”   
“That’s what this is about?” sniffed Sherlock, not amused. “You being the king of the castle?” 

For a moment it seemed that Moriarty would retaliate, but instead his ears perked up and he turned away from them to stare into the trees. Lestrade’s ears swiveled as he picked up the muffled sound of a human calling shrilly into the darkness. 

"Heeeeeeere, kitty! Heeeeere puss puss!"

 

Moriarty hesitated, raising a paw in what he thought must look like a threatening gesture.   
“This isn’t over, Sherlock. Mark my words.”   
But the three of them didn’t hear the cat’s words, as they were busy wheezing with laughter on the forest floor. Sherlock recovered enough to utter a closing remark as the cat scampered off into the trees.   
“Yes, indeed, until next—whew—until next time, Mewiarty.”


End file.
